Cold Steak
by PryzmKess
Summary: Fiction prompted by Critical Fumble's daily question: Nochlev ponders his favorite foods while other people try to make sure he doesn't get the chance. No canon NPCs.


Nochlev watched the servants pass by the table with yet another platter of meat piled high. Hanna, the serving woman, expertly balanced it as she passed behind the nobles, offering them more food. When she came to Nochlev, she said, "Lord Alexander, would you care for Citrus Clove Meat?"

Nochlev brightened at the mention of his favorite meat dish. "You know I would, stop being coy with me, Hanna."

The woman's brown eyes narrowed as she cast a glance further down the table. "Why, Lord Alexander, I would never presume to assume what you would or would not like. Her Ladyship would not like that."

Nochlev followed her gaze to Brianha, sitting at the place of honor next to his father. His older brother, Malcolm, was whispering in her ear, bringing a flush to her cheeks. She didn't look scandalized but charmed. "You don't like the future mistress of the manor?" he asked bluntly. He was used to speaking to servants with freedom.

Hanna opened her mouth to speak and then shut it sharply. "I have no opinion on the matter, milord," she said stiffly and delicately served him a slice of the tasty meat. When Nochlev glanced at Brianha, she was watching Hanna with narrowed eyes.

He hid a sigh and leaned forward to scoop up his goblet. Nochlev had honestly assumed he'd enjoy his brother's engagement party but with this ill omen of the future, he found his pleasure waning. He'd long ago learned that servants knew which way the wind was blowing, often before the nobles over them had heard of it.

The sweet Ascalonian red wine washed some of the bitterness away. Nochlev set the goblet down in a slightly better mood, cutting into the tender cut of seasoned steak before him. Edward, the son of the kitchen manager, came by with asparagus and sage salad, and Nochlev eagerly took a bowl of that. The tangy salad contrasted the sweet bite of the wine and the tart explosion of taste that was the cook's citrus clove seasoning.

A crock of glazed peach tart was set in front of him. Glancing up, Nochlev found himself blinking at Lady Julienne Alcosar, the matriarch of one of Kryta's oldest noble houses. "Thank you, Lady Alcosar," Nochlev said, hastily rising and offering her a bow. "I assure you, my father's staff can deliver our food."

"I asked to drop it by your plate." She smiled at him, the candlelight turning the streaks of silver in her hair into gleaming gold. "I wanted an excuse to see you up close."

Alarm flared in his gut and was quickly stifled. "You could have asked for a dance, my lady."

She grinned broadly. "_Excellent_ suggestion, Lord Alexander." She extended her hand and he dropped his napkin his chair. To refuse would be incredibly rude, even if his steak was getting cold. He stepped around the end of the table and took her hand, drawing her out onto the dance floor. It was relatively empty since most people were eating, and Nochlev could feel the eyes of his peers and servants on him as they started to move together in a proper court dance.

Nochlev kept a pleasant smile on his face, moving through the steps by rote. He'd learned to dance when he was boy, so his mind was more on his steak than on his social obligation to his partner. "Your eyes are true green," she mused, jarring him out of his thoughts. "Yet your skin is quite dark."

"Yes, it is a common trait to all of my siblings as well. Some quirk of my father's eyes make them dominant." Nochlev spun her carefully as he spoke, then resumed the dance.

"Even your half-sister? She has green eyes?" Lady Alcosar inquired as they briefly stepped away from one another and back.

"Yes. Deborah as well." Mention of his half-sister made him uncomfortable. He loved Deborah; he had fond memories of her from his childhood. Ten years his senior, she had left his father's house at eight to join the Seraph. He'd been angry at her over that for a time. It hadn't been until later that he'd learned how hard his mother had made her life.

"Is she doing well with the Seraph?" The noble lady met his gaze evenly and Nochlev couldn't discern whether she was truly interested or making small talk.

"Yes, quite."

"My son served with them for a tour," Lady Alcosar added with a smile, "which is why I'm so fond of them even today."

The mention of her children reminded Nochlev that Lady Alcosar had a recently widowed daughter, Marianne. The young woman was Nochlev's age, tragically widowed when her husband had gone boar hunting. A flood had washed him away and they didn't find his body until after he could be revived. She had no children, was attractive, and came from a good family, so she would be a good match for a younger noble family with money and an unmarried second son. Her husband had died about six months ago and her period of mourning was coming to an end. The understanding that he was being sized up for marriage froze his tongue and left him without a reply.

They finished the dance in silence, Nochlev bowing to her at the end. Lady Alcosar returned a curtsy. When she rose, she said, "Thank you for the dance, and the conversation. You should come to my garden party next week."

"I would be honored." He kissed her hand and watched her walk back to her seat. As he returned to his, Malcolm slipped out of his chair and slipped next to Nochlev. "What was that about?" his brother asked in a soft whisper.

"I'll tell you later," Nochlev muttered and sat down to try to enjoy his cold steak.


End file.
